


lost and found

by hholocene



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 00:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19712236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hholocene/pseuds/hholocene
Summary: "She was a commanding presence in the dragonpit. Regal in the way only royalty could be. Entitled in the way so many high-born were. And yet, unlike every other ruler he had known, there was a kindness in the corners of her eyes. He could not envisage her as a Mad Queen who burnt a city asunder. "Jon/Dany meet under different circumstances.





	lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> Jon is not a Targaryen because it added nothing but grief to actual canon.

The first time Jon heard about Daenerys Targaryen, he must have been a boy of seven. A throwaway line from their Maester during a history lesson of Westeros. Apparently, the Targaryen children lived in Essos. He wondered absentmindedly whether they were as valiant as his favourite stories painted them to be.

Years later he overheard the Baratheon King lamenting about their existence.  _ I should have killed them all _ , he roared to his father and he felt a confusing swell of anger inside him.

. .

Sam told him stories about a woman who gave birth to dragons and liberated slaves across Essos.

“She sounds quite--”

“ _ Impressive _ ,” Sam supplied.

Jon grunted in agreement.

“After all of that, I wonder why she would want a silly throne.”

“Well, I suppose it is more than just a throne to her. It’s her  _ family’s  _ throne. Wouldn’t you like to see Winterfell returned to a Stark?” 

“Hmm,” he had to admit that Sam had a point. 

“She might save us all. Her dragons could win this war.”

Jon remained contemplative, his mind ruminating on familiar concerns.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” he said, struggling to match the optimism of his friend.

. .

He had never been the hopeful sort but he still found himself disappointed when he heard that the Targaryen Queen had taken King’s Landing in a storm of dragonfire and wildfire.

Even so, he wrote to her and requested her aid. She was their best hope. Maybe their only hope.

That was what he told Sansa, when the reply came to parley with the Queen in King’s Landing.

“It could be a trap,” she warned him.

“Aye, that is a risk I will have to take,” he conceded. For some strange reason, he suspected the new Queen of Westeros was not one for schemes and traps.

“She might not be Cersei but you can’t trust her.”

“I know, I know,” he insisted. “But I have to try, Sansa. I can’t do nothing.”

Sansa grew quiet, her mind turning inward.

“You can’t just walk in there and hope for the best. You need a plan.”

“And what would you suggest?” 

“She won’t just take you for your word. You need to bring some kind of proof, like a captured wight.”

“You know how hard that would be.”

She sighed, “How else can you convince her?”

Jon groaned in reluctant acceptance. 

. .

Her beauty should not have come as a shock. After all, Taragaryens were renowned for it and nearly all the stories about her spoke of it. But to see it in the flesh was still startling. 

She was a commanding presence in the dragonpit. Regal in the way only royalty could be. Entitled in the way so many high-born were. And yet, unlike every other ruler he had known, there was a kindness in the corners of her eyes. He could not envisage her as a Mad Queen who burnt a city asunder. 

They danced around sworn oaths from the past, forgotten fealties and bended knees. He held his ground and for that he was proud of himself. Eventually, they got to the matter at heart of dead men marching south.

Her disbelief was plainly obvious, until their captured wight raced towards her. For a moment, he thought he saw fear in her eyes. Then a blink and it passed, she was the Dragon Queen once more.

“How many of these are there?” she asked.

“Hundreds of thousands,” he answered.

“And you say fire kills them.”

“Yes, and Valyrian steel and dragonglass.”

“Dragonglass?”

“It is a special type of rock. We think Dragonstone might sit on a mountain of it and if you would give us permission, Your Grace, we would seek to mine it.”

Her fingers thrummed against her chair, her watchful eyes transfixed on him.

“I will take my dragons and my armies North to fight this war with you. A handful of my men will go to Dragonstone and mine this dragonglass under the supervision of those in your command who are familiar with it. We will resolve the issue of Northern sovereignty after the war is won. Does that sound acceptable?”

He was dumbstruck by her response. By the look on everyone else’s face, he was not the only one. He came here asking the world of her and she had given it to him.

“Aye,” he replied, straightening out his shoulders.

“Good,” she declared with a note of finality. “Given, the urgency of this situation we will ride North within the week.”

. . 

He learned quickly enough that Daenerys Targaryen was full of surprises.

The first was when she easily sat astride her horse with an expectant look, waiting for him to join the front of their procession. 

“It’s a long journey,” he cautioned warily.

“I’m a  _ Khaleesi _ , not just a Queen. And a Khaleesi who cannot ride is no Khaleesi,” she told him sharply. “Now come, let us not waste more time.”

. .

The first day was filled with a painful silence between them. Both wary and unsure of the other and too enraptured within their own minds. Restless by nature, she was the one who broke first.

“Tell me about the North,” she asked and he wondered whether everything she said sounded like a command. Probably a habit he could do well to learn as King. 

He obliged with stories of rolling green hills, the earthly wonder of pine trees and the beauty of the first night of fresh snowfall. She listened silently with a forlorn sense of awe. He realised then how little she must know about this land she now rules over and how much that knowledge pained her.

“What was Essos like?” he asked in return. 

“The opposite of everything you described,” she told him with a laugh, and the melody brought a smile to his face. She painted a picture of burning sunshine, deserts of golden sand, bright clothes and spiced foods. In Mereen, she ruled from a magnificent towering pyramid but the untamed wilderness of the Dothraki Sea had held its own wonder.

“You’ve travelled everywhere,’ Jon commented.

“In Essos, yes,” she agreed. “But not my own homeland.”

He did not miss the longing deep in her voice.

. .

The more time that passed, the closer their stories grew to their heart. He told her of Winterfell and the memories he is learning to remember without aching pain. He spoke of Robb and his bravery and how he nearly broke his vows to be by his side. Perhaps it was foolish to be sharing such tales. He could hear Sansa’s voice chiding him, reminding him not to trust the Mad King’s daughter. 

He wondered when he started to trust her because the fact was that he did. Was it when she had confided to him about her brother’s cruelty? Or how she had struggled to bring peace in Mereen?

Or her honesty when he had asked about the sack of King’s Landing. 

They had been sitting at the campfire, just the two of them after everybody had retired. The thought had been plaguing his mind. He had heard all the rumours, seen the clear destruction of the city but by every measure, the woman next to him was neither mad nor cruel.

“What happened in King’s Landing?” he asked and watched the shadow of doubt fall across her face.

Her lips purse to a thin line and she checked, “How much do you know?”

“That you destroyed the city with your dragons. That Cersei lit the city alight with wildfire. I don’t know what is true and what is false.”

“Tyrion hasn’t offered any explanations?”

He held her gaze, eyes soulful. “I haven’t asked him and he hasn’t offered. But in any case, it’s you I want to hear it from.”

She swallowed nervously, her fingers playing with her loose tendrils of hair.

“The truth is somewhere between the two. The plan had been to lay siege to the city and have it surrender. Tyrion’s idea, but then it all went wrong. We were fooled into taking Casterly Rock. Yara and Ellaria were captured, Lady Olenna killed. They had all counselled me to take King’s Landing the day I crossed the Narrow Sea and that had always been my instinct too. I was desperate to do something,  _ anything _ to avenge them and to end the war once and for all. So I took my dragons, against the counsel of Tyrion and Varys, and I flew it to the Red Keep, ready to burn it to the ground. It was meant to be contained, you see. Only the Keep would fall but Cersei had lined the entire perimeter around it with wildfire. And you know the rest,” she said as sadness and grief overtook her.

“You must think I am no better than my father,” she stated in a small voice and he felt his chest tighten.

“I do not,” he said emphatically.

She shook her head, eyes glassy. 

“So many innocent people are dead because of me.”

“You can not blame yourself for the sins of Cersei Lannister.”

“I was reckless and made a grievous mistake because of it. That  _ is _ my sin to bear.”

“You’ve said it yourself. You made a mistake,  _ a terrible mistake _ , yes, but that does not make you the same as Cersei Lannister or your father. A mad woman, a cruel woman, would not have taken her dragons and her armies North as readily as you have done.”

His voice was impassioned as he spoke, and she thought, she had never seen the King in the North so animated over anything. His opinion should scarcely matter as much to her as it did but she could not deny the absolution she felt at his words.

. .

When a Northman made an attempt on her life, unbridled rage engulfed him. It happened with her by his side, a well-aimed arrow that lodged into her shoulder before anyone could block it.

It was a foolish endeavour for the man was caught within minutes. Before long, Jon had him by the neck, nearly ready to kill him with his bare hands in front of everyone.

He was pulled out of his trance only by the Queen’s weak voice calling out to him, “ _ Jon  _ ”.

When he looked up, he saw her pale face observing him curiously. Her eyes were soft and understanding, and within it contained a silent reminder that they were Kings and Queens, who could not be so quick to deliver justice.

. .

“Does it hurt?” he asked her quietly, when he noticed her fidget in her saddle.

“Just trying to get comfortable,” she muttered, as she rearranged her sling.

He gave a disgruntled sigh, having already fought about her insistence to still ride. 

“I told you before. A Khaleesi who cannot ride is no Khaleesi,” she hissed, reading his mind. 

“Sounds rather foolish to me,” he mumbled back.

“The Dothraki follow strength. They would see the inability to ride a horse as the greatest sign of weakness.”

“Anyone who dares to call you weak can face my sword,” he said grimly and she found herself endeared by his severity. 

“They are deeply superstitious but also fiercely loyal and vicious on the battlefield,” she explained. With a twinkle in her eye, she added, “I’m told you are a talented swordsman but I wouldn’t be so quick to pick a fight with my Horse Lords.”

“To protect you, I would try my luck,” he told her and even as there was mirth in his voice, his eyes betrayed the true sincerity of his statement. 

She felt blush colour her cheeks and wondered whether he knew the effect his words had. Or was he truly so unassuming? 

“You are a wonder,” she whispered beneath her breath.

. .

On their last night before reaching Winterfell, they sit by the fireside late into the night as they have grown accustomed to do. Tyrion would say it was improper, after having already admonished her for displaying excessive familiarity with the King in the North. But she was struck with an inexplicable feeling that everything would change in Winterfell. Both of them reminded of their positions in Westeros’s great game of power, coupled with the burden of an impossible, fantastical war.

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” she admitted. 

“Aye,” he grinned in return.

“It’s strange to see you smiling. You’re always so,” she searched for the right word. 

“Broody?” he offered, having heard it enough from Tyrion.

“No,” she laughed. She felt it would not be a just characterisation. “You are thoughtful. Sometimes you seem sad or glum, but I can see your mind thinking, worrying for everyone.”

“As if you don’t worry too,” he scoffed.

“I would like to think I am as selfless as you in my worries, but I know I am not.” She looked at him with such delicate wonderment and a warmth that made him forget the frigid cold air. Her hand came to rest on his cheek, her thumb caressing his beard. “You’re a good man, Jon Snow.”

He knew he ought not to. Love had no place during war, bringing only the promise of future heartache. But he was far too gone already. He was a fool for her, maddeningly in love and tired of resisting. 

Their lips crashed together with the longing of two souls who have spent a lifetime seeking each other. He tumbled into her bed, a wolf dancing with a dragon. She described herself as fire made flesh and he was only grasping how true that was. She was fire personified and the heat singed him to his core, in the most delicious and heartwarming way.

. .

They stood atop the Wall, watching the sun set and waiting for war to beckon. The bells had been rung, the dead had been spotted.

She thought to herself how strange this moment was. She felt the beauty of the snowy wasteland before her, languished in the serene quietness of their surroundings and at once felt her heart racing anxiously. 

Her dragons screeched their presence, reminding her that they were at the doorstep of another battle. Her hand reached for his, laced their fingers tightly together.

He looked down at their entwined hands with the same anguish that she felt.

“I’m glad I met you, Jon,” she told him softly. 

He took her hand, so carefully, and brought it to his lips. 

“I learnt not to have hope growing up and in my years at the Wall, I think I lost it altogether. But ever since I met you, I thought, we may have an actual chance. Not just to win this war, but to build a better world afterwards. You, Daenerys Targaryen, make people believe anything is possible.”

. .

Her body fell from the sky like a shooting star. A dot of white against the spectre of darkness. The scream that left his throat was guterral. He urged his horse faster, charging through the sea of wights, his sole focus on the lonely figure in the sky.

Dragons were meant to fly, she had told him once, so sweetly that the memory made him want to cry. Save her, he begged of her sons. Drogon raced towards her, his desperation matching his own. At the final moment, his claws gripped her, ripping her cloak and doing just enough to cushion her blow. 

He hacked and killed every wight that dared to stand in his way. Until he was finally there, by her side. Her battered body brought him to his knees. Her furs were half ripped off, her left arm cut from Drogon’s claw and her face marred with cuts and bruises. 

“Wake up, please wake up, Daenerys,” he sobbed as he cradled her face. When her eyes tilted open, he felt like a man reborn.

“Gods, don’t you dare leave me,” he cried. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose another person that I love.”

There was a gingerly smile on her face.

“ _ Love _ ,” she whispered and the blackness enveloped her again.

. .

There was a pitiful moment, as he carried her body back to Winterfell on horseback, when he thought she really might die. After she slept for days on end, his resolve continued to crumble further.

And then she woke. No Red Priestess to bring her back, just her own magic.

“You saved me,” she told him softly, reaching for his hand.

“You saved us all.” 

“The Night King is dead?”

“Aye. Arya dealt the final blow.”

“Good.” She played with his fingers absentmindedly, “You came to me when I fell.”

“Of course I did.”

“You said--” Suddenly she felt shy reminding him. What if he hadn’t meant it?

“I love you,” his strong voice cut through any of her insecurities. “I should have told you sooner, not when you were half dead on a battlefield.”

“It doesn’t matter. It meant just as much to me.” She squeezed his hand tightly, “I love you too.”

The smile she gave him was effervescent and he felt like a boy again.

When he was a child, he had struggled to picture the exiled Targaryen Princess. It had been a fool’s errand, he thought. She was an impossibility that no one could have conjured. 

This incredible, almighty woman that never ceased to amaze him.

He could not fathom his life without her now.


End file.
